Or nobody may have. It seems most unlikely that any normal person would really give a tinker's. But then I have that curious statistical evidence from Flickr, which tells me that pictures of myself are - for some strange reason - far, far more viewed than any of the 19,000-odd other pictures I have uploaded. The difference in viewing numbers is absolutely startling. My footwear is especially popular - you know, things like boots and wellies.
I can't say whether it's good thing for one's characteristic image to be an old boot. But hey, I value every viewing. It does anyway give me hope that a post on the garments that grace the slim and shapely Melford body at night might be of wide interest.
I like pretty things to wear at night, but must confess at once that I don't romp around in filmy, see-through negligees and sexy satin bra and pantie sets. Turn away now, if this revelation bothers you.
Nor do I sleep in the nude. I used to, every night, writhing between the sheets in my ecstasy. But nowadays I feel the chill much more - partly as a consequence of losing a serious amount of weight - and, except on hot sultry summer nights, I need to wear something.
Well. I've almost given it away. I have two white sleeveless cotton nightdresses with little blue flowers on them, courtesy of Marks and Sparks, and rotate them on a weekly basis. Here's one. (Obviously I'm shamelessly cavorting around in the other just now)
Yes, it's not very exciting, but it is quite pretty, and comfortable even under a winter-weight duvet.
I have two other nightdresses. They were a gift from my older cousin Rosemary. The style and fabric combine to make these rather more cosy to wear, perfect for the caravan in fact. And I do wear them at home in the spring and autumn. But not in the winter, because I'd roast if I wore them in bed, underneath that winter-weight duvet. Here they are.
Well, I think I've probably now blown any reputation I may have had for being hot stuff in the bedroom. Nobody who can wear such prim attire can possibly be credible as a potential sexpot.
I'd best leave my confession of night-time dullness there. I'd only compound matters by mentioning the sensible full black knickers I wear during the day. Mind you, I'm sure I recall a scene in the 2001 film Bridget Jones's Diary, where the dastardly Daniel Cleaver (played by the very naughty Hugh Grant) discovers that she (Bridget) is wearing pale green knickers that look exactly like my black ones, and to her great surprise, considers them super-sexy. But perhaps my memory is at fault. In any case, I'm more than thirty years older than the Bridget Jones character, and - I dare say - infinitely less appealing, whatever I might put on.